Read Online Otherworld by Jared C. Wilson - Free Book Online

people all around, dressed in their Sunday suits and dresses. Children scampered about, and some shot marbles in the dirt. When the boy and man reached the peak of the incline, they saw a reflection of the sun occurring someplace unseen, casting its beam directly through the round stained glass window that was set in the steeple spire atop the pitched roof. The boy marveled at it. Each color came alive and pulsed.
    That very morning, at the end of the church service, the preacher gave his customary invitation: “Anyone wishing to make a decision this morning, just come down this aisle. There are friends here who would love to talk with you and share with you the wonderful love of Jesus Christ.” The choir and congregation sang Hymn 282. It was not a slow hymn, which would tend to depress anyone considering answering the altar call, but a lively one: “Blessed Assurance.” And that morning, the young boy made another walk with his grandfather by his side. They didn’t need a “friend” from down front. Just the front pew. And there, Graham Lattimer, age twelve, prayed with his grandfather to receive God’s gift of salvation. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of His Spirit, washed in His blood. This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long; this is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long.
    Two years later, his grandfather lay in bed in the home they shared and approached death’s door. Graham brought him dinner. Toast and jelly and a glass of milk. His grandfather wouldn’t accept it.
    â€œI won’t need that,” he said simply.
    Graham knew why. The man took his hand. He had been the boy’s guardian nearly all the child’s life. Graham’s parents passed away when he was only six, and his father’s father took him in and raised him.
    They sat in silence for a while. Outside, a bird chirped, and the sound came into the room unusually loud, as will happen when two people are frozen in quiet, each acutely aware of every breath, each lingering uncomfortably, anticipating a word from the other. The rise and fall of Grandpa’s chest slowed.
    â€œWhat did you do this afternoon?” the man asked.
    â€œI was here. I didn’t do anything.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI wanted to stay with you.”
    â€œYou should’ve gone out and played with your friends.”
    â€œI can do that some other time.”
    They quieted again and accepted the realization that death was near.
    â€œDoes Aunt Faye know?” the boy asked.
    â€œNo, no. You’ll need to call her, I guess. I didn’t want to worry her. I’m sure she’ll be upset for not knowing, but I’d rather it be this way.” He paused. “You’ll have to live with her, you know.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œShe’s a good lady. You’ll like living with her.”
    â€œI know.”
    They both bowed their heads as if they’d rehearsed this moment. Graham was thinking. Grandpa whispered a prayer under his breath, but the boy could not understand it.
    Blessed assurance …
    The boy began to cry.
    Jesus is mine …
    Then the old man breathed his last and passed on, still clutching his grandson’s hand. He left without any last wishes or parting words or dying speeches … just a legacy. A legacy of faith and prayer and devotion.
    This is my story, this is my song …
    Graham went to live with his aunt Faye and grew into manhood in her care, but he attributed any good that was in him to the love his grandfather showed him and the Love he found in a little country church one autumn morning.
    Praising my Savior all the day long.
    Â 
    â€œLooks like he’s been dead awhile,” one of the crowd announced matter-of-factly.
    The men gathered together on the muddy bank of the river. Some stood. Others squatted down